


falling

by preromantics



Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:11:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Neal hides his surprise well when Peter asks if he has an extra carabiner, but he doesn’t quite manage to hide it when Peter explains what they are doing with it.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	falling

**Author's Note:**

> Whitecollarswap 2010 exchange fic.

Neal hides his surprise well when Peter asks if he has an extra carabiner, but he doesn’t quite manage to hide it when Peter  _explains_  what they are doing with it. 

He doesn’t say anything, though, once he gets over the fact Peter is completely serious and feels the best way to accomplish their goal is to scale a building in the middle of the night -- completely ignoring all of Neal’s perfectly executable, climbing equipment not required, daylight plans.

They get a third of the way up with no complications before Neal spots an easier place to get into the duct system of the building, so he stops climbing and motions for Peter to look over about four feet to their left and one foot below.

“I just have to get to the ledge,” Neal says, even as Peter starts to shake his head already un-clipping from his shared line with Peter and then from his own, “it’s not a problem.”

Peter grabs for Neal’s single line when Neal tosses it over before it can swing back, clipping it to himself. 

“Neal --” Peter starts, bouncing off the ledge at his feet to slide a little closer. 

“It’ll be fine,” Neal says, almost rolling his eyes when he turns to look at Peter briefly, where his eyes are narrowed and his forehead is creased. “I’ve done this before, remember? More times than you know.” 

“More times?” Peter repeats, after a pause while Neal starts to gradually shift along his window ledge with his arms above on the next, fingers curled along the cold stone to pull himself along.

“Well --” Neal starts, farther along now, almost to the point where he’ll have to quickly jump down along the wall.

“Don’t tell me,” Peter says, cutting him off, and Neal can clearly picture the accompanying slightly distracted frown, even though he isn’t looking. “I don’t need to know.”

“The piece from the show at Miguel Abreu,” Neal says, grinning for a second while he figures out the best way to let go and jump sideways while still staying as close to the wall as possible all at once. He has to figure it out quick -- his fingers are going numb on the cold stone surface of the building and he’s definitely about to loose his grip.

“You scaled the building for that?” Peter asks, letting out a laugh, though it’s short and low. “Not that I’d --”

Neal jumps down before Peter can finish. 

  
\--

  
Neal feels, first -- something long and edged pressing into his back, like a counter-top, except he realizes after a second that’s he’s horizontal, not vertical, indicating that he hasn’t fallen asleep accidentally against Peter and El’s kitchen sink again after a late night of work. 

It takes a second to process the fact that he knows he was just vertical, moments before, standing somewhere -- no, hanging -- scaling a building, so --

He realizes, in the next second, that he must have fallen, so he shifts minutely, balling his fingers into fists and flexing various muscles until he’s mostly certain he’s all in one piece. 

It’s then that he opens his eyes, looking up, first at the dark sky above and then to the building to his side, and squints to figure out where he fell from. Then around, to figure out where he is now -- a dumpster, judging by the metal walls and smell and, well, that’s convenient, at least.

Before he can move to sit up, though, there is a bang against the side of the dumpster and then a leg comes over the side, until all of Peter is tumbling over and right into Neal’s chest, a big cloud of what looks like sawdust springing up into the air and settling over them.

“Jesus, Neal,” Peter says, face too-close and out of focus when Neal finally warily cracks an eye back open after the dust settles. 

Peter doesn’t seem to be able to say anything else, and he’s pressed over Neal in a way that’s making whatever is under Neal’s back press harder up against him, and --

“Peter,” Neal says, voice not as steady as he means for it to be, meaning to finish his thought with something to convey how much Peter needs to shift his weight, but before he can finish Peter shifts and leans to grab at Neal’s face, under his jaw.

“Oh thank god,” Peter says, still close enough that his face isn’t entirely in focus in the low light beside the building. “That was stupid -- so stupid of you.”

Peter shakes him a little, by his chin, as if emphasising something important, in a really uncomfortable way, where mostly Neal wants to sit up to see if he can stand -- except he goes to sit up and Peter doesn’t move, but ducks down and pulls Neal’s face right up to his own.

“Don’t do something like that again,” he says, and then they are -- not kissing, not really, though, because Neal just fell from a great height and maybe blacked out for a second, so it’s not like Peter could be kissing him, something Neal gave up on over a year ago, and yet -- it’s definitely a lip touching moment.

It’s over before Neal can use it to his advantage, though, and Peter leans back. “Don’t do that,” he says on an inhale, which Neal takes to mean falling from a building, not, probably kissing him. Though he probably shouldn’t do that, either. 

“I’ll try not to jump off any buildings again,” Neal says, taking Peter’s proffered hand to sit up. 

Peter doesn’t look reassured -- he’s not even really looking at Neal, he’s looking up, toward the building, with an expression Neal can’t place in his internal catalog of Peter’s facial expressions.

  
\--

  
They meet in front of the elevator in the morning to go up to the office, though Neal had tried to hang back a little later than usual; not because he wanted to avoid Peter, just -- 

They nod at each other, like normal, and that’s fine, if they’re just going to go on like normal. Neal can do that.

Neal twists his back to crack it while they are still in the elevator, only barely wincing when his muscles protest.

They aren’t talking about it.

“Did you get x-rays this morning?” Peter asks after a second, keeping his voice low. 

“I’m fine,” Neal says, straightening and glancing over at him. Peter looks this same this morning as he always does, tired like he’d maybe stayed up too late reading over case files, not like he’d scaled a building and then sort of kissed Neal. 

“Get them during lunch,” Peter says. 

“Peter,” Neal says, “I’m fine, I don’t need x-rays.”

They hit their floor and Peter steps in front of Neal and the floor, blocking him. “Get them during lunch,” he repeats, “not for you, for me.” 

  
\--

  
Neal’s nurse is cute, probably even someone he would usually charm to get his results faster, but he’s distracted, looking out the clinic window to the street below.

The door clicks open sooner than he expects, and Neal turns on the edge of the bed only to find Peter in the door.

“You’re fine,” he says, without much preamble. 

“You got my x-rays before me?” Neal asks, grinning after a pause, “Did you flash your badge?”

“No,” Peter says, but his mouth is twisted up at the side. “I was worried.”

“I could tell,” Neal says. He looks down at his loafers for a moment, at the pavement scruff marks he’ll have to get out soon before they become too noticeable, and then looks back up with a grin.

“I didn’t realize you were one of those people who completely overreact to someone barely almost dying, Peter,” he says, still grinning. 

Peter stares at him for a moment. “I don’t overreact,” he says, carefully. “Although, you did fall off of a building.

Neal nods, once. “You kissed me,” he says, almost humming with it, amused at the automatic change in Peter’s expression. 

“I didn’t,” Peter says, a little low. He steps forward towards where Neal is sitting on the exam table, almost brushing against his knees.

Neal raises an eyebrow. “Right,” he says, not thrown off at Peter’s closeness at all (almost), “that was just a really late and irrelevant attempt at mouth-to-mouth, despite the fact I was alive.” 

Peter raises an eyebrow right back at him. “If that had been -- if I’d kissed you, you’d know it.” 

Neal laughs at that, quieter than he means to. “I can see why El keeps you around,” he says, opening his mouth to add reasons why, to make Peter’s strangely serious face split into a grin.

Except then Peter  _is_  kissing him, no question about it, with enough force that Neal has to lean back into the exam table, lifting his arm to wrap around Peter’s shoulders, broad and warm under the splay of his fingers, just to balance himself. 

Far too soon, someone knocks on the door, three short and professional taps. “Mr. Caffrey?”

Peter steps back before Neal even gets a chance to loosen the grip he hadn’t noticed he’d had on Peter’s collar. He scratches, lightly, above his eyebrow, and looks over easily if not exactly directly at Neal. “There,” Peter says, as if that means anything at all, as if --

“Been wanting to do that,” Peter adds, the corner of his mouth curling up just slightly as he situates himself on the other side of the little room, the door opening up to the nurse from before, x-rays in hand, and a doctor right behind her. 

“Good news,” the doctor says, “you’re fine, no issues.”

“I’m fine,” Neal repeats, mostly to himself. He’s  _definitely_  fine. Then he levels Peter with a look, repeating the words again -- Peter worries too much.

(Peter also kisses really well, thoroughly and direct but with an edge of maybe caring a little too much, much like his approach to work. Yes. Neal is doing fine.)


End file.
